


Realism

by JazTheBard



Series: Reunions [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnap Dads, Misunderstandings, Reunions, Tolkien Gen Week, Tolkien Gen Week Day 1: Family, long coversations while carrying someone over difficult terrain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25110100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazTheBard/pseuds/JazTheBard
Summary: After the Last Alliance, Elrond is helping to clear the dungeons of Barad-dûr and rescue survivors. One of them is very familiar indeed.Actually freeing Maglor is the easy part -- convincing him he's really being rescued is harder.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Maglor | Makalaurë
Series: Reunions [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711414
Comments: 63
Kudos: 177
Collections: Tolkien Gen Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> happy tolkien gen week!!!!
> 
> this is the first of my fics being published in celebration :) the second chapter will be up tomorrow
> 
> i kinda stole the terry pratchett genre of "having long difficult conversations while carrying someone over a rugged landscape" but whatever
> 
> warning for mentions of suicide and maglor kinda wanting to be dead
> 
> translations:  
> atto - Quenya for "dad"

Elrond moved through the dungeons and cells of Barad-dûr looking for survivors. So far there had been very few indeed, all taken away immediately for healing, so he was now searching by himself.

If he remembered the layout correctly from above, he was now nearing the entrance to the bottom gallery of the throne room, which was as far as his group was slated to explore.

Almost there.

He forced the lock on the next door in the hallway and glanced inside.

He closed the door. There was no way the poor soul who had resided in that room could be alive. He didn't need to be a healer to know that.

Elrond quickly marked the door with white chalk, indicating that the remains within required burial (he was on his third stick of white chalk since beginning the search), and moved on to the next door.

This room was empty. He marked it in green.

Most of the rooms in this part of the hallway had nothing in them, for which he was grateful, and he soon came to the last door.

This one was unlocked. Elrond's heart hammered as he cautiously pushed the door open.

The room was not empty. There was a figure on a cot in the corner, and whoever it was, they were still breathing.

Elrond swallowed and stepped forward, careful not to startle the sleeper, studiously ignoring the implements of torture on the walls and the bloodstains on the floor.

As he got closer, the person (who Elrond could now see was handcuffed to the cot) stirred, revealing themself to be an elf.

A very familiar elf, one that Elrond would recognize anywhere.

Maglor Fëanorion.

His father.

In his shock, Elrond stumbled backwards and knocked something over, he wasn't sure what. Maglor awoke, seemingly in a panic, but relaxed when he saw Elrond.

"I'm sorry, atto," said Elrond. "I did not mean to startle you. I am here to get you out of this dungeon." He pulled out a set of lockpicks, endlessly grateful to Celebrimbor for making him learn how to use them.

Maglor obediently held out the arm with the chain on it (his right, of course, but this cuff was intended to be opened occasionally, so history would not have to repeat itself). Elrond sat at the side of the cot to work on it. Absentmindedly, Maglor said, "It's been a while since I've hallucinated you, you know. This isn't even one of the more realistic visions."

Elrond stopped. "This is no vision, atto. I am truly here to free you," he said, slowly. Maglor sounded delirious; he would have to navigate this carefully.

"I'm sure you think so." Maglor reached his left hand over to clumsily pat Elrond's head. "Unfortunately, I have seen plenty of you hallucinations who wish to help me escape, and I still have not left. And you are not realistic, as I said."

Sauron was held to be a master of illusions; he had probably tormented Maglor with the hope of escape. Perhaps he had watched these false Elronds be caught and dragged away by guards, or Sauron himself. Elrond's heart broke at the thought of what Maglor had endured.

He still had a question, though. "Why do you call me unrealistic? Do I not look like myself?" How strange that would be, to be accused of impersonating himself because he did not look like the real Elrond.

"Don't be silly. No, it is your actions; the realistic Elrond hallucinations do not try to free me, because the real Elrond would not."

"Yet here I am, doing so," said Elrond, trying to keep his tone light. "What other hallucinations do you have?" Perhaps this would keep him distracted while Elrond picked the lock.

"Oh, about what you would expect. My brothers, my cousins, my father. Elros. Þauron brings them in when he tires of torturing me the usual way."

"What does the more realistic Elrond do, then, that makes me such a poor copy?" The first tumbler clicked.

Maglor looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Tortures me, of course. What else?"

Elrond froze.

"You would call that realistic?" he asked, hands shaking as he picked up the lockpicks he had just dropped.

"Well, obviously. It's no less than the real Elrond would do if he were here."

_ Does he really think so badly of me, to believe I could do that to him? _ Elrond fought the urge to be sick.

Maglor continued talking. "I mean, it is hardly  _ Elrond's _ fault that, as justice for the hurt I have caused, I must be hurt in turn. And I could never fault him for desiring revenge. I could never fault him for anything."

Elrond's thoughts were near hysterical as the second tumbler clicked.  _ At least he does not blame me -- though if these hallucinations have done as he has said, he probably should! _

Maglor smiled crookedly. "Run along now, little hallucination. Soon Þauron will return, and if you are still here, he will again kill you before my eyes, or force me to do it myself."

"He will not return," said Elrond. "And in any case, I think not that the real Elrond would take such joy in your pain."

"Do not misunderstand me, he is a good person, probably the best there is. But vengeance against his former captor, who hurt him so cruelly, is hardly wrong to wish for, or to take satisfaction in the doing of." He sighed. "He -- and Elros, too, of course -- were and are the greatest people in Arda. Imagine how much greater they would have been had I not destroyed them!"

"You did no such thing! Elros was happy, and Elrond lives still." The third tumbler clicked. One more.

"He lives, yes, in terrible fear of my ever returning. Þauron told me of the hidden valley where he now resides, enchanted that no evil may enter. A place where I could never find him to hurt him again, and even if I found it I could never reach him. He is safe many times over, for I am captive here, just as he was once my prisoner, facing punishment for my countless crimes."

"I think he fears the Enemy more, and has built that stronghold against  _ him _ rather than you."

Maglor snorted. "Please. I doubt the Enemy could even land a blow on that boy. My brother and I were the ones to train him, and he started young."

That part was certainly true -- Elrond still remembered the day that he and Elros, nine years old, had been given wooden practice daggers and told they must learn to defend themselves. The memory was a fond one, because that was the day they had realized that Maedhros loved them and wanted to keep them safe.

Maglor continued, "Þauron forced me to kill illusions wearing that same face you mimic, you know. Once, for years, I thought it had been real, that I had finally destroyed the last bit of goodness I had failed to hoard or ruin. But apparently I was too broken by it to be any fun, so Þauron showed me the truth: that he lives, and fears me still."

To keep from weeping openly, Elrond decided to change the subject. "How long have you been in here?"

"Oh, a long time. I have lost track of the days and years, but I was trying to protect the people fleeing Eregion when I was captured. But it matters not."

...That was one thousand, seven hundred, and forty-four years ago.

"You have been here for seventeen hundred years." There! The last tumbler clicked, now it was just a matter of opening the handcuff.

"Then I am not yet to be released to death. I have not suffered enough. Perhaps when forty-nine hundred years have gone by, I will have."

"Why forty-nine hundred?" asked Elrond, with the sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.

"You should know that well enough, hallucination Elrond. It is one hundred times over the length of time I imprisoned the twins. It is entirely just that I should be captive as they once were."

Elrond opened the handcuff and removed it. "You did not hurt them as the Enemy has you."

Maglor's brow furrowed. "I must have. I have forgotten many things, but it would be inconsistent with my character not to have done so. And then I decided to pretend to be their father, and they would not have played along had I not frightened them into it."

Elrond, not knowing how to convince him otherwise, changed the subject. "Why don't you sit up now, carefully? I've taken the shackle off."

Maglor did so, and slowly swung his legs over the side of the cot.

"I do not think I can walk," he said softly. "I am too injured. You might as well fade away now, little hallucination, there would be no hope of escape even if you were real."

"Then I shall support you," said Elrond. He put Maglor's arm over his shoulders and stood him up. "You see?"

Maglor nodded, resigned. "Þauron will catch us before we make it out, but I will humor you, I suppose."

As they left the room, Elrond quickly marked the door with blue chalk to indicate that the inhabitant was being brought to healing.

Maglor, still delirious, spoke on. "You know, you're a very good copy of the real Elrond, or you would be if one ignored your entirely uncharacteristic actions. If it weren't for the fact that the real Elrond hates me and would be glad to see justice served, you would be very believable."

"How is this justice?" asked Elrond as they staggered down the hallway.

"Punishment, then. Call it what you will. You must understand, I do not care much for hallucinating, but there is some comfort in imagining that Elrond has at last been granted the opportunity to exact vengeance. The other visions have no such silver lining, if only because it is entirely impossible for me to see those people again."

Elrond hummed noncommittally, focusing on opening the heavy door at the end of the corridor without having to put Maglor down.

"But I have hope all the same. Þauron said sometimes that when my time was up, when I had finally earned my death, he would bring the real Elrond here to kill me."

Elrond tripped over his own feet and struggled to right both himself and the elf he carried. "What?"

"Well, of course I do not want Elrond to be anywhere near Þauron, but I cannot deny that it would be a good death," said Maglor.

"Quick and painless, I suppose," said Elrond. He managed to open the door at that point, and they moved into the next hallway. The nearest exit was not too far.

Maglor laughed. "Oh, how little you know! No, it would be exactly as painful as it ought to be, and that is very. Elrond is a healer, you know, and knows what he is doing; I do not doubt that my death would be precisely as unpleasant as I deserve. The thing is that it would  _ mean _ something. He would have both retribution and the closure that I could trouble him no further."

"I see," said Elrond, who did not see. What horrors had Sauron wrought while wearing his face? How could he convince his father that all would eventually be well?  _ Just keep him talking, _ he thought.  _ Get him somewhere safe while he's distracted. _

Maglor beamed. "I knew you'd understand eventually! I suppose even hallucinations can learn new things. Perhaps when I next see you, little vision, you will be a more realistic Elrond, and take a knife to me like the real one would."

Elrond shuddered. But they were almost out, there was the exit, and the door was propped open to let fresh air in, not that it helped much.

They stumbled out into the harsh sunlight, where Elrond noticed that Maglor was incredibly pale. He had probably not been outside in the light since he was first captured, so long ago. It was a miracle he had survived as long as he had.

"Oh," said Maglor, struck. "This is real. I am out."

"You are indeed," said Elrond, pleased that this was going so well.

"Then please accept my apology for calling you by the wrong name, and claiming you to be false. I think I am seeing things even yet, for you still look like him, but I am sure that will fade. Thank you for getting me out."

Of course it couldn't be so simple. "You are most welcome," said Elrond, deciding to play along. "Let me take you to the healers."

"No, I -- might I ask you for a favor?"

That was suspicious. "You may ask, though I may not grant it."

"Take me to Elrond."

A pause. They stopped walking.

"I thought you did not want to see him," said Elrond carefully.

"Of course I want to see him. I need to know he is alive and safe. But if you will not, or cannot, or I grow too heavy to carry, simply leave me somewhere and tell him you found me there dead. I will endeavor to make your words true." Maglor paused. "If you think he might believe it, tell him you found me dying, that my last words were an apology. They will be, in any case, and I do not feign my guilt and regret, but I doubt he would believe my repentance."

"It is not so far, nor are you difficult to support as we walk. I will bring you to him," said Elrond as they continued. "Why do you wish to see him? What will you do?"

"Apologize," Maglor said simply. "Apologize for everything I have done, and turn myself in to him, and welcome my death at his hands."

Elrond's blood ran cold. "You would make your son a kinslayer?"

Maglor gave a short and bitter laugh, saying, "It would hardly be  _ that. _ The Valar will likely give him a medal for it, and in any case, well-deserved execution is hardly murder. But he need not dirty his hands, only command that I cast myself into Orodruin and die as my brother did."

He paused, and added as an afterthought, “He would not like to hear you call him my son.”

“He is not here,” Elrond lied.

“That is true.” Maglor sighed. “He will finally be free, when I am gone. No more lingering fear or uncertainty, but closure at last. And no more shall I cause harm -- that is why I must die or be imprisoned, you know; I cannot be trusted not to hurt someone. Just think, the world shall have one less evil in it, and Elrond shall be happy and safe.” He smiled. “I will finally do something right. And though it is selfish of me, I am glad that my last sight will be of him.”

Elrond could not let this go on any further, even if it meant shattering the illusion of coming death that seemed to make Maglor happy for some twisted reason. They were not far from the healing tent now. “He will not, and do not argue with me, I know this. Do you think the child you raised as your own, who loves you, could ever wish to hurt you so?”

But there was no response. Maglor had fallen unconscious.

Elrond cursed as he maneuvered Maglor with difficulty into a position where the sleeping elf would not be supporting any weight.

Not much further before he could put him down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm also publishing the last 2 chapters of Archaeology right after this, so stay tuned!

Maglor awoke in an unfamiliar place. Apparently he really had been rescued from Barad-dûr, and brought to...

He looked around. It looked like a healing room. He must have passed out during the journey, and that kind soldier who had found him had brought him here.

Maglor closed his eyes again. The light hurt too much to endure after being without for so long. He would wait here until someone came for him (Elrond would not kill him here, that would destroy the sanctity of the healing wing).

Maglor slipped back into a sleep more peaceful than he had ever experienced in the dungeons.

When next he woke, the bit of the sky he could see was darkening. He sat up a bit to give his surroundings a closer look.

The place was a small room in a presumably much larger tent. The air was fresh and smelled pleasantly of herbs, and the sheets he lay in were clean and softer than anything he'd had in a long time.

He was not in chains or any kind of bonds.

Well, that was clearly an oversight. He should be restrained for everyone's safety, and to ensure he did not decide to escape and cause further harm later. He would have to bring that up when someone came to check on him.

There was food and drink on a little table to his left. All of a sudden, Maglor realized how terribly hungry he was. He was weak from injury and lack of sustenance, but just strong enough to pick up the plate and eat.

It mattered not if the food or water were poisoned, not now. He doubted he would mind if it was.

His fast-approaching death loomed, but Maglor could not find it in himself to be troubled, or even very afraid.

Simply put, fear served no purpose now.

He did not look  _ forward _ to Elrond's anger and hatred, or the pain that would come with his execution (unless Elrond chose to grant mercy and kill him peacefully), but those things would come whether he wanted them or not, and the end result would be well worth it.

The only things left were  _ when _ and  _ how. _

It would probably be soon -- he was too dangerous to let live, even if the most poetically appropriate punishment would be to again lock him in a lightless cell until he went mad. He had endured that for seventeen hundred years, it would simply have to have been long enough for Elrond to be satisfied that he had suffered exactly what he had done to the twins.

In any case, the sooner he was dead, the sooner Elrond could be happy, so he would probably not have to wait long. Though he was bandaged now, there was little point in actually healing him, so it was probably just a precaution to ensure he did not die until he was meant to. There was hardly any satisfaction in Maglor succumbing to wounds from the Enemy.

And that led him to the question of how he would be killed. Orodruin would make the most sense, if only because there were no bodies of water nearby to complete the symmetry of the Silmarils by drowning.

Perhaps Elrond wanted to watch Maglor prove his repentance, ordering him to cut his own heart out, or cast himself to the fires, or return to Þauron's hospitality of his own volition, or -- no, it mattered not how he was commanded to die. He would obey.

(Perhaps it would not be Orodruin at all, but some other desolate cliff in Mordor that he was to throw himself from, and he would fall and fall and  _ fall _ for he was not Elwing whom he had driven off the edge long ago--)

Or perhaps Elrond would be best pleased to take his revenge himself.

Long ago, before he had left his twisted delusions of fatherhood, he had given Elrond his own best sword as a gift. Oh, it had likely been melted down long ago, or broken, or thrown away, but if not -- would it not be just for Maglor to meet his end by his own blade?

There were countless ways for Elrond to kill him at last. There was no point in speculating.

And if there was a tiny part of his mind that disagreed, saying that Elrond would not be so cruel, he silenced it. It was not cruelty to give him the death he deserved.

_ You know him! He would not cause anyone such pain, even you! _ cried that traitorous part of him.  _ Oh, he abhors you, true, but you raised those twins to treasure peace because you were afraid that one day you would be at their mercy. _

_ Now that day has come, and you expect violence? No, he will Sing you to sleep and do it then, or leave you the tools and let you at least go with some dignity, alone. _

_ He will feel guilty for it, you know. He will name himself kinslayer and try with all of his heart to mourn you though he cannot. There will be no peace, no catharsis. You will never stop hurting him. _

No. He could not think that way. If nothing else, Elrond could finally place those forty-nine years of torment behind him and no longer worry about his captors, for they would both be dead.

(Forty-nine years! Even Maedhros had only been in Angband for thirty -- and of course, that was Maglor's fault, too -- and he had been an adult, the twins had been  _ six, _ and within two years had lost hope and bent to his wish to play at being a happy family.)

Now, Maglor knew he had done terrible things. He had written songs about most of them. And though he knew there was debate on which of his family's deeds was the most evil, he could be sure that his own worst crime was the imprisonment of Elros and Elrond.

At least he’d had some form of  _ cause _ \-- the Oath had not been kind -- that had led him into the kinslayings. The only thing that drove him to keep the twins captive for nearly half a century had been... what? His own selfish wish to be loved?

They had been hostages at first, of course, but if he had been motivated only by that, he would have let them go once Gil-Estel rose. Instead he had ruined their lives, broken two children to pieces for his own amusement.

The worst thing he had ever done, and he hadn't even had a reason.

So he could not know that, given the chance, he would not choose again to hurt someone. Elrond would be doing both the world and himself a favor by killing him; what regret could there be in such an act? What could Elrond possibly feel but relief?

* * *

After a night spent drifting in and out of sleep, Maglor heard footsteps outside. He expected a healer, or perhaps guards to drag him off to meet his fate, but Elrond himself came in instead.

Full of regret, Maglor could hardly stand to look at him, and yet felt the urge to catalog every detail of his appearance, to see for himself that his former hostage was safe and well (it was hardly his place to do so, but he worried for Elrond constantly).

Elrond was lightly injured (nothing that would not heal in a month, but it was still far too much for Maglor's liking), largely unscarred, dressed as well as could be expected (considering he looked to have just recently been in battle), and rather exhausted and haggard, but alive and seemingly well. Maglor had thankfully failed to ruin all of Elrond's future, though he had tried. That was enough.

He sank back into the pillows.

He wanted to say something -- an apology, a plea -- but no word he knew could possibly express the depth of his guilt or remorse. He remained silent.

Elrond took it upon himself to speak, though there were no standard or commonly accepted greetings to one's former kidnapper, who had long eluded justice and was now in one's healing wing (due to having been injured by the Enemy) and entirely at one's mercy. Maglor might have drilled proper etiquette into the twins, but there was no protocol for this situation.

"Good morning," said Elrond awkwardly. "Are you well?"

"Well enough," said Maglor, surprised to notice that this was true. He was in pain, but it was bearable, and in any case he would only have to bear it for a few more hours at most.

Elrond nodded, looking lost. "That is good. I--" He broke off, seemingly at a loss for words. "How much do you remember of how you came to be here?"

Maglor blinked. It had all been very fuzzy, but he remembered quite a bit. "There was an elven soldier, I think, who removed my restraints and carried me out. I fell unconscious sometime after leaving Barad-dûr, then woke up here." He paused, but in the interest of honesty added, "I was hallucinating badly. I'm sure he has told you."

There was no need to describe exactly  _ what _ he had been seeing, and Maglor could not endure the shame of admitting that he had more than once hallucinated his own victim coming to rescue him, even if Þauron was at fault there. After all, the Enemy would not have created such an illusion if it did not have the power to hurt Maglor, if he did not desperately want it to be true.

The soldier had probably told him already, anyway, and bringing it up would only serve to upset Elrond, which he refused to do.

"Do you remember what you spoke to him about?"

"Yes." Especially the painful twist of his heart when the soldier had referred to Elrond as Maglor's son. Now that he thought about it, that had probably been a test, but he had presumably passed it by admonishing the soldier on his word choice. But Maglor had suggested that Elrond be lied to, in case the soldier did not want to carry him, and be given false reassurances of his death. His intentions had been good, but Elrond would not see it that way.

He almost missed the moment that Elrond started speaking again, quietly. "Did you mean what you said?"

"Of course I meant it." Maglor took a deep breath. "And I still mean it. Anything you wish me to do to prove my repentance, I shall do. Any death at your hands for what I have done, I will accept. You deserve peace and healing at last, and I cannot change the past but if there is any way for me to atone--" He stopped. "You understand, I am sure."

Elrond had brought no weapon that Maglor could see. Perhaps calling it a death at his  _ hands _ had been more accurate than he had intended.

"I am not sure  _ you _ do, though."

What was there that he did not already comprehend? Nothing about this situation was particularly complicated. "I understand perfectly. You will kill me, or you will tell me how I am to die and I will do it." He thought for a moment, then added, "I suppose you could jail me, or have me sent off to trial in Aman, but--"

"Come back to Imladris with me, and heal."

Maglor's mouth hung open in shock. That was a terrible idea. Too much could go wrong, especially on the journey. He could escape, or injure someone, or find some way to hurt Elrond further from behind bars, and he'd be a constant reminder of everything Elrond had suffered.

...Was his dislike of the idea truly so selfless, or was it that he didn't want to simply trade one prison for another? Was it fear at the prospect of enduring in turn what he had put Elros and Elrond through?

Maglor snapped his mouth shut. He was a coward and a hypocrite; his fear to be treated as he had treated them was in fact a very good reason for him to be made prisoner. "I said I would do anything you asked, and I meant it." His lips quirked. "I am hardly one to go back on my word."

Elrond sighed, sounding almost frustrated. But that couldn't be right, Maglor was agreeing with him and accepting judgement. Was he doing it wrong? Perhaps Elrond wanted him to plead for his life or his freedom. He would play the role if he only knew what was being asked of him.

"Still you hear not what I say!" cried Elrond, tears in his eyes. "I am not here to hurt you, and I desire no vengeance. Please believe me when I say I bear you no ill will. You are my father," he said, voice breaking, "but if you care for me no longer, you need not go with me. Only know that I love you."

What sort of hallucination was this? Such things could never be. And even an illusion of Elrond would know of Maglor's selfish parental love for the children he had stolen; that had never faltered even as his grasp on reality had.

Oh.

He hadn't left Barad-dûr at all, had he?

Maglor slumped back into himself. "I see now. I was not rescued, only moved to another place. But you have unraveled the realism -- many thousands of years have passed since the last time I believed such a lie, that the children ever loved me."

Elrond made a noise of exasperation. "Will you listen to me? You are free from the Enemy's clutches; Sauron has been defeated, though at great cost; I have found you, at long last, and you will heal. What must I do to convince you this is all real?"

Maglor considered this. "I do not think you can. Sooner or later, Þauron will grow tired of this farce, though it may be a century from now. And in the meantime, it would be wrong to take solace from this when it is false and undeserved."

"Then there is nothing I can do?" Elrond whispered, seemingly to himself.

Maglor, ignoring the illusion, steeled himself to endure countless years of this mockery of forgiveness. He would withstand it; he had to. Just because the only hope he had, the chance to die well, had been taken from him, didn't mean he was allowed to break and let the illusion comfort him.

"Wait," said Elrond. "I think I can prove that this is no vision. Look." From a pocket in his robes he pulled a ring set with sapphire.

"This is the Ring of Air that Celebrimbor made," said Elrond, placing it in Maglor's shaking hands. "He gave it to Gil-Galad, who gave it to me a week ago, just before his death. If the Enemy had gotten it, he would have boasted of it to every being in Middle-Earth."

That was true. Þauron could never have remained silent after gaining one of the Three. And this -- this was the work of Celebrimbor, there was no doubt about it.

Even letting Maglor be in the same  _ room _ as a Ring of Power was a show of rather naïve trust. To let him hold one? Unthinkable.

Elrond had really meant it. Elrond loved him.

Maglor clutched the ring close with a sob, and embraced his son. His son! Tears ran down both their faces.

When he again had the breath to do so, Elrond murmured, "I love you, atto. I never stopped looking for you.”

"I love you, too, little star. I'm so glad you found me."

This was  _ real. _

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it!
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos, and check me out on tumblr @jaz-the-bard
> 
> In light of recent events: I do not consent to my own original ideas that appear in my fics being used without permission or without credit. If you are able to pick up ideas from my fic then you are certainly able to ask me for permission, and if you are going to publish, credit is REQUIRED.
> 
> This includes names such as elenyafinwë, aþelairë, and almatáru, as well as a number of other details and ideas that appear in my works.
> 
> If you are going to use my ideas for fic that excludes LGBTQ+ characters, for reasons religious or other, I do not give you permission to use them, even with credit.


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